


i know what you like, it's big and dangerous (it’s me)

by MulaSaWala



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragons are good, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MulaSaWala/pseuds/MulaSaWala
Summary: .———The decision to spare a dragon changes things between Iron Bull and the Inquisitor, and turns the tide in the battle against Corypheus for the fate of Thedas..———.an excerpt———"Dragons are the embodiment of power— but it's all uncontrolled. Savage. So, they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos,"Mahanon, who had only ever sought to befriend what was wild, never destroy it, thought the words were harsh. Cruel, even— except the words didn’t match the admiration in Iron Bull’s gaze as they followed the dragon making her way across the sky. Though her roar had sent others cowering in its wake, it had made Bull stand taller, almost proud.
Relationships: Lavellan & Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas, Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull, The Iron Bull/Male Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of my never ending quest to save the dragon in every story I encounter.
> 
> First title was "what hand dare seize the fire" which is from a poem, but it was too serious
> 
> The second try was "I like big horns, I cannot lie" 
> 
> Let's see if third time is the charm?

As with everything he did, Mahanon Lavellan either had the worst luck, or the best. 

It began with a trip to Redcliffe Castle— to wrap up some mage nonsense, as Iron Bull understood it— except after they’d spoken to Connor and gotten a “don’t let the door hit you on the way out” for their trouble, Mahanon’s real goal had turned out to be _Tevinter_ mage nonsense. Specifically, trying to get Dorian and his father to kiss and make up. 

Bull hadn’t known either of his parents. As Krem would say, even bastards had a leg up on Qunari, because at least they knew who their mother was. From what Bull had seen, though, some people would have been better off under the Qun. 

Maybe not their ‘vint, though. He seemed like the type to still want his father in his life. 

And the Inquisitor seemed to agree, having tricked Dorian into the empty tavern. Mahanon never would have put Dorian in there if he didn’t think it was good for him. Their esteemed leader was just that kind of guy. But still...

“You sure it’s a good idea to leave them alone in there, boss?” Iron Bull asked the Inquisitor, gesturing toward the tavern.

While he was sure that Dorian was tough enough to survive whatever this was, trap or no, he wasn’t quite as confident about the tavern’s chances. It was a nice tavern, owned by a nice lady. She had emptied it without complaint when she saw that it was the Inquisitor making the request. It seemed a shame to repay her with her livelihood burned to the ground. 

The two of them sat just outside, within sight of the tavern, shaded by trees. The Hinterlands were nice this time of year. A small bite in the air, the cold snap of oncoming winter, but nothing compared to the freezing weather further south, and infinitely better than the sweltering heat further north.

Varric and Solas had been with them on the way, but had cried off a while back, the dwarf claiming he wanted to catch up with some old friends, with the quiet elf mage for backup in case they ran into trouble.

“We’ll wait at the gate after I visit my _dear old friend_ ,” Varric had said. 

Iron Bull figured that the dwarf mixed pleasure with business more often than not, and having a mage around provided enough protection for these parts (not that that Varric often needed more than Bianca for protection). Bull vastly preferred to keep the Inquisitor company by himself, than be Varric’s ‘hired muscle’ for the day. 

”They needed some time alone, I think,” Mahanon replied, leaning back on his hands to look up at the sky. “I can’t imagine what Dorian must be going through. His father said such awful things...”

“What about your parents? You think they’d like knowing you and I...” Iron Bull gestured with his hands in a way that was both vulgar and confusing. It made the elf laugh, which had been the Iron Bull’s intent. 

“They’d like you,” was Mahanon’s surprising reply. 

(Then again, when did the elf ever act the way Iron Bull expected?)

“I think they’d rather believe I don’t know what _this_ is,” he attempted to duplicate the hand gesture, and was mostly unsuccessful, though it made Iron Bull grin,

“But they’d like you, I’m sure of it.”

It was the first time the Iron Bull had given it some thought. From his understanding of _Bas_ , parents were Very Important People within the family unit. The closest thing he could think of were the _Tamassrans._

(He knew what his Tamassran would think of Mahanon. Before all this rift business, she would have wanted Mahanon bound and hooded, his lips stitched together, as all mages were under the Qun. Now, they’d kill him _at least._ Iron Bull stopped that line of thought and put it back in the tightly locked box where it belonged.)

“You think they’d like me?” He prompted instead, voice light, betraying none of his dark thoughts. 

“Well, they certainly wouldn’t act at all like Dorian’s father,” Mahanon cast a worried glance back to the Tavern. There were no sounds of fireballs being thrown inside, and the building wasn’t on fire, so Bull figured they were doing just fine. 

“Let me guess: Dorian’s father didn’t like that his prized stud of a son doesn’t want to make perfect little grandchildren to raise his standing in the Senate.”

”How did you know!?” shocked eyes turned back to Qunari. Or well, Tal-Vashoth now. Damn, did that take some getting used to. 

”Ben-Hassrath, remember?” Bull replied with a smile. “I know ‘vints and I know Dorian’s type. Not that hard to put together.”

Before the elf could reply, the Tevinter mage in question strode out of the Tavern. With a wordless nod to the Inquisitor and Bull, he led the way back to Dusklight camp. 

Which brought them to the here and now. With Mahanon’s unique brand of luck, _of course_ the dragon would choose then to attack the camp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time after the attack on Haven, but before What Lies Beneath and Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts. 
> 
> The Inquisitor has spent a few nights with Iron Bull, who said they could keep it casual, and the Chargers were saved instead of the ship on Storm Beach.
> 
> I haven't played Tresspasser or Jaws of Hakkon yet, and am only halfway through Deep Roads, please don't spoil it yet! ^_^


	2. Chapter One

It was, as always, his fault.

One day, Mahanon Lavellan would learn to stop sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but apparently, it wasn’t before he caused a rift in the sky and a dragon attack. 

He was _cursed_ , Mahanon was sure of it. 

Technically, they had seen the dragon what felt like a lifetime ago. Before Skyhold, even. But the attack was happening _now_ , and Mahanon was pretty sure he knew why.

It was because he couldn't, for once, leave well enough alone. He'd always liked the _idea_ of dragons, though he'd never seen one before. After all of Iron Bull’s stories about the magnificent fire-breathing beasts (one story about a particular ritual notwithstanding), Mahanon had wanted to _see_. 

That was always his problem, wasn’t it? The same thing had happened at The Conclave. He couldn't actually recall, but it was a reasonable assumption; he'd been the only one to walk away alive. He had wanted to see, and everyone else paid the price. 

The mage had crept out of camp just before dawn that day, bringing no one with him. He had removed his shoes, for the first time in what felt like forever, in order to move soundlessly through the forest. And then he found the dragon’s lair. 

It hadn’t been hard to find, to tell the truth. It was surrounded by scorched earth and her dragonlings. The difficult part had been sneaking close enough to enter the nest, searching for a dragon tooth. It wasn’t the same as slaying the dragon to get it, of course, but the idea of killing her made the Inquisitor feel awful, and perhaps Iron Bull would like one, regardless. 

"Dragons are the embodiment of power,” the Iron Bull had said to him the first time they’d seen the Fereldan Frostback. “But it’s all uncontrolled. Savage. They need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos,"

Mahanon, who had only ever sought to befriend what was wild, never destroy it, thought the words were harsh. Cruel, even— except the words didn’t match the admiration in Iron Bull’s gaze as they followed dragon making her way across the sky. Though her roar had sent others cowering in its wake, it had made Bull stand taller, almost proud.

Was it so bad that Mahanon had wanted to see her up close? And maybe bring back a keepsake that would make Bull smile (after grumbling over the fact that Mahanon had not brought him along, of course)?

The answer was _yes_ , apparently. He could only guess that she’d followed his trail, or perhaps his scent, back to Dusklight Camp. It was only luck that had them arrive just as she did, raining fire down on the recruits who could do little more than dive for cover and shake their fists at her, weaponless as they were. 

“Get everyone to safety,” the Inquisitor yelled at the camp’s requisition officer, already making his hands move in the correct pattern to cast Barrier. In front of him, Iron Bull gave a War Cry, heading directly towards the dragon, confident that one of the mages would make sure he wasn't burnt to a crisp.‘

What followed was the longest fight Mahanon could recall since Redcliffe, in that future he still had nightmares of. Dorian’s fire spells seemed to have little damage, and it was all they could do to keep from dying, the three mages taking turns casting shields and buffs, one after the other. Mahanon hoped that everyone else at camp, fresh recruits and volunteers mostly, had gotten away safety, that they weren’t trying to help.

Little by little, though, they wore the Fereldan Frostback down. Soon, the battle was no longer to protect themselves, but to slay her. 

_‘Fly away!’_ He wanted to shout, but he was exhausted beyond even words. 

Exhausted beyond words. 

Maybe that was why, when Iron Bull managed to get the upper hand, and raise his sword for the killing blow, Mahanon could not even shout in warning. He wordlessly leapt between the his companion and the dragon, staff raised in defense. The force of the Qunari’s blow drove him to his knees with a cry of pain as the jolt traveled down his arms.  
  


Everything _hurt_.

All at once, the fighting seemed to stop. With the battle having come to an end, Mahanon fell gratefully into unconsciousness. 


	3. Chapter Two

The sun was setting over the mountains on the edges of the Hinterlands. Inside the large tent erected for the Herald of Andraste, darkness already reigned, broken only by the flickering light of small candles and light crystals. The air was heavy with steam and the scent of healing herbs, but the two occupants hardly noticed. 

“You gave us quite a scare, _lethallin,_ ” Solas said as he wiped a cool, damp cloth over Mahanon’s brow. The Inquisitor felt like he’d been in and out of consciousness for a while, but this was his first time awake and aware of his surroundings, so he gave the other elf a grateful smile Solas responded in kind, before continuing.

“I’m quite sure that the surrounding woods have been stripped of every elfroot and rashvine, but at last, you seem to be on the mend.” The corner of Solas’ mouth quirked up just the tiniest bit, to let Mahanon know that his friend was only making fun.

...They wouldn't _really_ pick every elfroot, would they?

The injured dalish elf tried to laugh, but ended up with a coughing fit instead. If Solas thought Mahanon was well enough to make a joke, then he must be out of danger, no matter what his aching body told him. The Inquisitor looked around and saw that the tent was otherwise empty. Mahanon couldn’t help himself; he tried not to be terribly disappointed. 

“Iron Bull is outside making sure that nothing untoward happens to your dragon,” Solas said, answering the question Mahanon did not ask. “I must admit, we were all quite confused when you... did what you did. But the dragon seems quite docile for now, and is injured besides. No one wanted to go against your wishes and slay her.”

"I am... glad, that you chose to spare her," the quiet elf continued. "Many fear dragons as Old Gods, Archdemons commanding blights, but in the end they are living creatures, deserving of life as much as anything else. Thank you."

At this, Mahanon breathed a sigh of relief, losing tension he did not know he held. He hated to think that the Fereldan Frostback would have had to die for his curiosity.

“Is everyone all right?” Mahanon asked after a long moment, voice weak and cracking in a way that suggested he had a long recovery ahead of him. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he added, belatedly. He should have thanked Solas first; waking up in his care was starting to become a habit.

To keep his patient from talking and tiring himself out, Solas spoke himself, telling the Inquisitor all that had transpired since he fell unconscious during the battle.

Mahanon had been kept unconscious to heal for quite some time. Long enough that _everyone_ was here in camp, even his three advisors. They had all made the trip from Skyhold to see him, which told Mahanon that his injuries had been a lot more serious than Solas was letting on. Indeed, if he looked closely, he could see bags under the healer’s eyes, and a shakiness that came from taking too much lyrium at once. 

Mahanon made a face. He hated that stuff, and knew Solas did too; the other mage must have been truly desperate to resort to it. 

After Solas helped him have a sip of water, Mahanon could already feel his eyes growing heavy again, no matter much he fought it. 

“Sleep, _da’len_ ,” Solas teased, already gathering up his healing supplies.

Mahanon looked at him with narrowed eyes; he wasn’t a _child_ trying to stay awake into the night! He was the Inquisitor! He had to get up, make sure everyone was okay...

Mahanon fell back into sleep before he could finish the thought. 


	4. Chapter 4

The Inquisitor was finally asleep again.

Solas took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. To say that Mahanon's injuries had been... extensive, was putting it mildly. It had been a great relief to see him finally open his eyes. Solas walked the Fade so often, watching old memories unfold anew, that he sometimes forgot how much you could feel in the moment, how different emotions tasted when they were yours and no one else's.

The Inquisitor-- no, his _friend_ had looked very small in a bed made for shemlen, looking lost in a sea of sheets and linens. Shock of red hair hidden under a cloth embroidered with a rune that invoked a cooling spell.

The elven healer ran a damp rag over the Inquisitor’s brow once more, hand lingering to push back sweat matted hair.

"Rest well, my friend."

* * *

“He was awake for a short while, but he is resting again. The Inquisitor continues to astound us all with his continued ability to survive,” announced Solas as he left the tent that had been erected for the Herald of Andraste’s personal use, convalescing for the time being.

He looked at the worried faces seated around the campfire, and thought it couldn’t be farther from his first vigil, right after the explosion at the Conclave. Back then, it had been only Cassandra and Leliana, and it had been suspicion that lined their faces, not worry for his charge. Varric and Adan had been the only ones helping him, then. Now he had a veritable army of worried faithful at his beck and call, an endless supply of healing herbs, and as much lyrium as he cared to use. 

How quickly things changed. 

There was one face, however, not by the campfire, and instead of sitting down amongst his comrades, Solas sought out the missing member. 

* * *

"She’s waiting for him to visit," Cole had said one night. No one knew if he was guessing, or if he had seen it in the creature's mind.

"Dragons are at least as smart as Mabari," Blackwell claimed, seeming to agree, his Fereldan roots showing, "Maybe it wants to thank the Inquisitor, before it leaves."

"Pray that is all it wants to do," Cullen replied, cheerful and optimistic as ever.

"I think we should slay it now,” Vivienne made her opinion known clearly, a rare occurence, “Kill it while it is still to weak to fight back, before it hurts anyone else."

"No," came the quick reply from Cassandra, "The Inquisitor saw something that stayed his hand. We must trust him, as difficult as he makes it sometimes."

An inelegant snort from Sera followed Cassandra's declaration. "What _I_ can trust is that His Elfiness is too soft on things you shouldn’t be soft on, sparing _dragons_ and _demons_ ," This she accompanied with a quick glare at Cole, who either did not notice, or did not care. "I’m with Vivvy, for once. We should just kill that thing, and say sorry after. He'd forgive us, he's nice like that."

A laugh suddenly erupted from Varric.

"I can't believe we're talking about whether we _should_ kill a dragon, not just _how_ , considering it nearly ate the Inquisitor." the dwarf shook his head. "I can't even put this in the book; it's so strange no one would believe it."

"This is all my fault," Dorian's voice entered the conversation, soft and somber, uncharacteristically so, "If we hadn’t come here because of that _stupid_ letter--"

"He would have found another reason to visit the area, I’m sure," Josephine was quick to cut in. "Our inquisitor has wanted to see a dragon for quite some time, and he can be _quite_ stubborn, I assure you."

"Stubborn enough to survive this," Leliana muttered under her breath.

They lapsed into silence after that. There seemed to be no more to say for the time being.

* * *

The area around the dragon was free from debris, thanks to the Chargers. When news of the dragon attack had reached Skyhold, as rumor, nothing more, the chargers had made the necessary preparations (including excuses) and followed their chief to the Hinterlands. And a good thing too. They, along with their leader, had been the only ones outside of Mahanon's small group of companions brave enough to stray so close to the beast.

They occupied the small clearing between the healing tent close to the dragon, the dragon itself, and the rest of camp, having taken on the task of keeping the curious away from the dragon and from the Inquisitor 

This made the Iron Bull easy to find, as he had spent many nights simply staring wordlessly at the sleeping behemoth. Solas could only guess at his thoughts; Though the Iron Bull presented himself as a simple mercenary, it was clear to those who knew him that he was anything but.

"He asked for you, Iron Bull," Solas said as he drew near, stretching the truth.

The Iron Bull grunted. "You mean he asked after everyone, and you’re taking liberties." 

_‘Ah, perceptive as ever,’_ Solas mused. Many painted Qunari as savage, and Tal Vashoth as little more than beasts; it had been a pleasant surprise (and secretly, a relief) for the elven mage to find that this was untrue, at least as far as the Iron Bull was concerned. 

"Tell him I’m only keeping this thing alive until he can slay it himself, the idiot," the Qunari growled.

Solas found it strange to hear him speak without the veneer of affable ruffian he took such care to cultivate. But it was no wonder; there was no one felt the Inquisitor's injuries more keenly.

"Why not tell him yourself?" The elf asked gamely. He considered Iron Bull his friend, and it he did not wish for him to continue wallowing in guilt.

"You know why," was the curt reply.

And the thing was, Solas _did_ know why. Another reason that the Iron Bull was away from the rest of their little group, or at least the Inquisition troops, was that the troops held him as much to blame as the dragon for the Inquisitor's injuries.

After all, it was no secret that the Iron Bull wanted badly to fight a dragon. It was also no secret that he and the Inquisitor were...involved. Since truth often had so little to do with rumors, many believed that they had attacked the dragon at Iron Bull's behest.

Which was ridiculous, but also not the whole of it.

The rest of it was that the injuries which kept Inquisitor Lavellan abed were caused almost as much from the powerful blow the Iron Bull had struck, as it was damage from the dragon. This, unfortunately, had more than a kernel of truth in it.

It has something to do with Mahanon's magic, and how he could cast such devastating spells on the battlefield without worrying about injuring his companions. Solas thought it was a form of blood magic, but kept the thought to himself. 

Mahanon had taken a bit of something from all of them when they decided to follow him into close battle. A lock of hair, a treasured keepsake, or a bit of blood in a phial.

"It’s like a shield," he had explained each time with a smile, "With this, my magic can find you on the battlefield no matter what, and it knows to avoid you!"

Solas knew differently, though he doubted even other skilled mages like Dorian or Vivienne could see the subtle difference. What Mahanon was doing was _much_ more than redirection.

What he had done was render his offensive magic _completely_ ineffectual against them. Shields and buffs would still work, but an ice bolt, or a fire blast? These would do _nothing_ against the people he had chosen. By itself, the spell Mahanon had used was a feat of spellcraft, and Solas wondered at how he had developed it, but it was more than that.

It was a tremendous gift of trust, one Solas hoped he and his companions remained worthy of.

Impressive as it was, though, the spell was the reason that Iron Bull’s blow had struck him so hard. The Inquisitor kept a barrier on himself almost at all time, to keep himself from becoming injured during combat, but it had been useless against the Iron Bull, who himself had been aided by the many buffs and spells that Mahanon had cast on him to keep the battle in his favor.

“It’s part of being a squishy mage,” Mahanon had told Solas once, when he’d asked why the Inquisitor seemed to favor the spell so much. Solas would have chided anyone else for the statement, saying something about how you nurtured that prejudice at your own peril. Solas knew Vivienne was capable of dealing quite a lot of damage without magic, and that Dorian was capable of taking quite a few hits.

...However, it was an appropriate term for their leader. Mahanon was on the slender side, small even for an elf. Smaller even than Sera, who stood a full head shorter than Solas himself. Added to that was the fact that the Inquisitor’s training prior to the Conclave seemed almost exclusively focused on magic.

It was the sign of a peaceful and prosperous clan, that their First had no need to hunt or fight, but it had led to disastrous results in this case.

Iron Bull’s blow had broken more bones in the Inquisitor's body than Solas had ever had to deal with all at once, and it was a minor miracle that it looked like the Inquisitor was would heal without any permanent damage. 

With the amount of magic it had taken to keep Mahanon alive, it was a good thing that only one other had required healing after the battle.

The Fereldan Frostback.

At first, the poor thing had simply been too injured to be able to leave. Iron Bull had been feeding her, along with his chargers, and keeping the dragonlings who followed here away from their people.

Now, she should be healed enough to leave, but she didn’t. Not even straying too far from the tent where the Inquisitor was healing.

What an interesting turn of events.


End file.
